mars the whole. Sin
has come in somewhere, I suppose.

I can't express on paper what I feel, or give you any real conception
of what you are to me. You {158} would be startled if you knew. God
bless you, and work out in you, not my miserable ideal of what I think
you ought to be, but His own ideal, which exceeds all our thoughts and
imagination, of what you are to be.

_To G. J. C._

Christ's College: 1901.

. . . I was never so pleased to hear of any engagement as of yours. I
thank God with all my heart. I cannot put my joy into words, but
somehow or other it seems to bring me nearer to the source of all joy.
I feel more than ever that He cares for us and is educating us, and I
feel that He has been so good to you, because He loves you. The older
I grow the more I am impressed by His infinite sympathy and concern for
us. And when He gives us not only love but a return of love, it seems
to me that He is giving us the very best thing that He has--a part, as
it were, of Himself. 'The merciful and gracious Lord hath so done His
marvellous works, that they ought to be had in remembrance.'

I cannot tell you how glad I am. But I thank God in my prayers for
you; and I am sure that if He has been so good to you in the past, He
will not forget you in the future.

_To the same when he had just accepted a mastership at Eton._

Brislington, Bristol: 1901.

. . . . How good of you to write and tell me of your future
work! . . . The responsibility of such a {159} life is to my mind
almost overwhelming. 'Who is sufficient for these things? Our
sufficiency is of God.'

I am thankful that the offer came as it did--unsought by you. You will
feel happier in accepting it. 'Infinite sympathy is needed for the
infinite pathos of human life'--more especially of a boy's life. The
first, second, third, requisite for a master is, in my judgment,
sympathy. As I look back on my own school days, I cannot help feeling
that most of my masters were either lacking in it or else strangely
incapable of manifesting it in a form which I could understand.
Sympathy with the dull, unpromising boy is a divine gift, and I trust
that Holy Orders will confer upon you this grace also. I thank God
that you are taking orders, and finding your work in teaching. Forgive
this lecture from one who has no right to speak, and who is himself
strangely deficient in sympathy.

_To D. B. K._

Eastbourne: September 1901.

I am